


Reasons Not To

by City_L1ghts



Category: K-pop, Mamamoo
Genre: Alpha Moon Byulyi | Moonbyul, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Feels and Smut, F/F, Friendship/Love, Omega Kim Yongsun | Solar, moonsun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28350828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/City_L1ghts/pseuds/City_L1ghts
Summary: Fuck, she just needs her. Why is it always her?. . . .It’s about some heats. Some rutting. Mostly feelings. You get the gist.
Relationships: Kim Yongsun | Solar/Moon Byulyi | Moonbyul
Comments: 36
Kudos: 179





	1. It's Fine

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, yeah. So… this is cliché. Kind of. I don’t write in forever and then this is what I feel like writing. Don’t ask me how I ended up jumping on this ABO train. Please pardon the eventual sins of smut.

“ _Jesus_ , you reek.” Hyejin’s voice breaks through the walls, keys jangling and objects hitting the ground to announce her entry into Yongsun’s apartment.

Sprawled out on a chair, down to just shorts and a tank top– Yongsun’s struggling. She’s _determined_ she can get through this heat alone, splitting her time between pacing the room, trying to focus on _anything_ at her desk, and then eventually slipping a hand between her legs to relieve the incessant craving that’s aching inside of her. It didn’t help. And now she has finished a tub of ice cream and is watching Marie Kondo wrap pants up into the shape of tiny little cylinders, because cleaning gives her a sense of calm, even when she’s not the one doing it.

Hyejin materializes at the door to her room. “Why don’t you just let her help you out?”

Yongsun turns her head sideways, held up limply by the back of the chair. At the thought of what Hyejin was suggesting, she has to suppress a small whimper, an unintentional a wave of heat spreading between her legs. Fuck, why did she have to put that option back in her head?

“I’m _fine_. Just–” She grunts and waves dismissively at her door. “Get me an icepack or something.”

Hyejin laughs. “Hate to break it to you love– an ice pack ain’t going do the trick.”

Yongsun groans.

“Is this some sort of pride thing?” Hyejin doesn’t budge from the door, leaning against it with an irritating amount of nonchalance. “Because you saw her with– what’s her name again?”

Yongsun refuses to respond to that. With the flip of her hair Hyejin leaves the room. Seconds later a cold, hard bag of peas comes flying at her, and Yongsun responds in the nick of time to slap it from hitting her face. She throws Hyejin a look colder than those peas, then picks the bag up and presses it against her face, shutting her eyes at the sensation.

“I’m just saying…” Hyejin continues. “She obviously has a thing for you still. And these ' _never experience a heat you don’t want to!’_ pills are a fucking sham.” She tosses a small card box container, clattering with the sound of said pills, into Yongsun’s lap. “Especially not if you take them this late.”

“Stop throwing things at me. And…well, they sort of work for you.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a consistently sexually frustrated idiot at baseline.”

“ _Shut up_.” Yongsun whines, a desperate, pathetic sound as she gets up to push Hyejin out of the room, trying to shut the door after her.

“If this is a pride thing…” Hyejin continues as Yongsun tries to shove her backwards. “ _Pretty_ sure the girl would get on her knees for you.”

“ _Leave._ ” Fucking Hyejin.

She can’t help but fucking picture it. And frankly, picturing _anyone_ kneeling for her like that now is enough to drive her crazy. But of course, the same face that’s practically haunting her at this point flashes as well. And– She groans painfully as Hyejin recedes into her living room, chuckling amusedly. 

“You are not helping.” Yongsun says, mostly to herself. She leans against the cold door, consciously trying to slow her breathing, trying to get the fucking image of Byul looking up at her out of her head.

. . . . .

The thing about suppressing heats like the way she’s been doing is that it only _kind of_ works, and for _days_ after it subsides, you’re left with an underlying itch you can’t get rid of.

It eases a little if Yongsun runs about six or seven miles regularly. She would argue it’s been sustainable for almost a year now, because she refuses to give herself over like that, to let someone just _have_ a part of her when she has that little control. Not since that time.

It was too fucking much.

The cherry on top, in terms of ignoring her problems, is the excessive caffeine intake– yeah, that helps. And alcohol too, but she’s not so good with that.

Catching her breath from her morning run and tying her jacket around her waist, Yongsun pushes her way into the coffee shop. Of course, they’re already there. Across the room, sitting at their table, Hyejin has her arm draped over Wheein’s shoulders, trying to stick what appears to be the remaining crumbs of a cookie into Wheein’s mouth. Hyejin gets a jab to the stomach instead and is almost pushed off her chair.

She feels the voice sidling up to her right ear before she hears it. “You have _got_ to stop coming here after a run,” and Yongsun jerks, spinning around to put some distance between them.

“ _Byul_.” She tries to say it calmly. “And _I_ thought I told you to stop sneaking up on me.”

Byul shrugs, “I haven’t moved,” gesturing to the line she’s currently standing in, one which Yongsun has absentmindedly cut in front of as she walked in to stare up at the menu.

“I’ll let you cut the line.” She winks at Yongsun. Yongsun almost growls at her. Instead, she rolls her eyes once and steps a little closer, pretending it’s no different to any other day.

Normally, it’s _fine._

It really is.

A regular amount of suppression is good _,_ she thinks. But she’s right at the cusp of when her heat has subsided now, and everything is making her little on edge, and plus if Byul can prance around the last month with a girl hanging off her arm then, well –

She allowed to be a little curt. After all they’ve just gotten to a good place.

For months it was avoidance and painful encounters, mitigated by the endless pleasant banter Hyejin and Wheein can supply. They talked, but it wasn’t actually _talking._ And then as ridiculous the notion was to her, she had realized… she missed her; it was indisputable. They _were_ friends before, or whatever, there’s no actual word to describe it.

They still don’t talk about that one night.

They don’t talk about how Yongsun jumped her, practically begged her to help her through the heat, desperately letting it slip she’d let Byul mark her amongst the heavy panting and thrusting. Granted, Yongsun left quite quickly after she rode her way to some unimaginable bliss and reality came crashing back. But not before Byul let Yongsun _do_ all that to her, never even came, and then looked at her in a stupor and… hesitated. And Yongsun had just felt like –

…Byul was doing her a favour.

Now, Byul has that tall, model beauty, who must have sold her soul to some deity, because who the fuck _looks_ like that going to the library. So, if anything, a little tense is normal.

Yongsun pulls at her dismantled ponytail in line, letting her hair drop before regathering the loose strands up again. She can feel Byul’s eyes on her, the heat of it, but denies her the satisfaction of returning it.

Because this is what they do, a dance between them that takes them nowhere– has been ever since they’ve started pretending it never happened– riling her up, always egging her on with her blatant flirting, as if _nothing_ between them was ever real.

And right on cue, Byul takes a step forward in line, her shoulder brushing against Yongsun’s arm, an audible breath slow and steady. Yongsun turns to look at her then and regrets it immediately. Byul’s lips are parted, eyes dark and heavy as they travel along Yongsun’s neckline, hair damp from the sweat.

“You _know_ what you smell like after a run. You _know_ that I’m going to be here.” Her voice is a deep, grating rasp, so inappropriate there it throws Yongsun off more than usual. “And yet you still do it. So–”

Yongsun ignores the way her eyes lose focus for just a second, blurring, as she tries to find her words. There’s a glint of irritation at Byul calling her out, and an immense anger that follows at the vulnerability she’s relives when she sees her. She stamps out the inevitable longing that spurs like a cigarette butt on the floor.

“Not _everything_ is about you.” She bites, stepping forward to gather space between them and takes it upon herself to order first as they approach the front.

The barista inhales slowly and glances attentively at Yongsun, probably due to the shear amount of frustration and pheromones she’s emitting after whatever that was.

He grins sweetly, “nice run today?”

“Yeah, the heat’s pretty bad out there today though,” Yongsun shrugs.

“I’ll bet…” the corner of his lips tugs higher, “and what can I get you then?”

His eyes linger a tad too long to be unintentional, hands brushing slowly against Yongsun’s as he takes the cash from her. At the sight of contact a low grumble emits from Byul, obvious in her display of possession.

“ _Stop it._ ” Yongsun elbows her in the flank, fucking alphas. 

It’s getting embarrassing, this thing between them. And god forbid for her to become Byul’s anything. She looks apologetically at the barista, fleeing to pick up her drink as quickly as she could, and leaving Byul in her glaring contest as she mumbles her order. Yongsun wonders if Byul is getting a lot more than syrup in her drink.

. . . . .

“ _Unnie._ ” Wheein grimaces with a shaky breath as Yongsun slides into the chair across from her. “Please tell me you’re taking a shower before class. Are you _trying_ to get half the alphas on campus to jump you?”

“No.” Hyejin states. “Just one specific alpha.” She nods her head towards where Byul is sniffing at her drink, before pouring more cream in. “And you–” Hyejin redirects to Wheein, who’s eyes were narrowing to study Yongsun “–stop _looking_ at her like that.”. She slaps a sloppy hand against Wheein’s cheek, turning her head roughly and effectively snapping her out of it.

“I’m _not_.” Wheein whines.

“Quit being dramatic, you two. There’s plenty of people in here coming from a work-out.”

“ _Well,_ those people haven’t also been using suppressants for a year.” Hyejin mumbles, all too matter-of-factly.

“ _A year?_ ” Wheein gasps.

“God damn it Hyejin.”

“Are you sure there aren’t like… side effects?” Wheein asks cautiously.

“I’m fine!” Yongsun all but yells, the coffee sloshing in her cup a little as she jostles agitatedly.

“That definitely sounds like someone’s who’s fine.” Byul chuckles, slipping into the last vacant chair.

It’s not just the airy way she says it that sets her off– into equal parts anger and lust– but the proximity of her scent, that has her struggling to take a breath. She chokes on the gulp of coffee she takes, spluttering even more notably when Byul runs a hand up her back in an attempt to sooth it. She lets the burn at the back of her throat ground her.

“Okay, _okay._ I’m sorry. My bad. You’re fine. I believe you.” Byul hushes, her hand still draws lazy circles on her back, and she laughs, particularly softly. Then, Yongsun must have been obvious with her inner thoughts unravelling in front of her, because Hyejin’s looking at her with her typical know-it-all face and–

She should leave.

She shouldn’t have come out so early after her heat ended. She’s like a bottle of champagne with the cork about to pop off.

Yongsun clears her throat, awkwardly, grabbing Wheein’s glass of water to wash whatever that was down. She shrugs Byul’s hand off in one go.

“Well, it seems to be the consensus I take a shower. However rude that sentiment is,” Yongsun rolls her eyes to make light of it all, “I guess I should go.”

She hopes the taut laugh and nails digging into her palm isn’t discernable.

She’s out of there so fast, she’s almost certain that it was.

. . . . .

There’s a knock on the door just as Yongsun manages to pull on a pair of jeans. She doesn’t bother with the buttons of her shirt and tucks one side under the other, holding it together with an arm as she pulls her door open.

Her eyes flash wider, _oh_ , a little defenceless in her surprise.

“What are you–” Yongsun starts.

Byul extends her hand out, holding on to Yongsun’s phone. “You… left it.”

There’s a second of hesitation, before Yongsun starts reaching out, awkwardly holding the door open with her foot as she grabs it. She’s looking questionably at her, but Byul’s already answering, “they said they had to go pick up something. A book, I think? When did Hyejin start to read?”

Fucking Hyejin. Yongsun’s going to murder the girl. “She doesn’t.”

She takes a step back at the sight of Byul standing there, honestly looking a little a lost. These moments here and there are rare, her only indication she’s a lot softer than her bold exterior. Moments that tend to appear only when they’re alone. Or that’s what she thought. Now she’s certain tall model beauty gets the first-hand experience.

Yongsun feels eyes drag all over her, hanging on to the sliver of skin exposed under her poorly held together shirt, a look that doesn’t even have the decency to pretend she wasn’t.

“You know…there are buttons for a reason.” Byul laughs softly, fully encompassing her tender side.

Yongsun flusters and looks down, “Yeah… well, I thought you were Hyejin,” she says lamely. She tries to fix it one arm while the other holds the door open still, tugging uselessly at the material without actually letting it go.

At the sign of the obvious struggle, Byul reaches out to do up the first button for her.

Yongsun freezes.

“What if it was the mail man?” Byul jokes as her fingers move slowly, a light one-time graze on the skin of Yongsun’s chest, until the button _pops_ onto the other side.

Yongsun doesn’t stop her– just stands there, simultaneously feeling exposed, aroused and irritated that her composure is a joke when it comes to her. She can tell when Byul’s up to her antics, and this… this wasn’t quite that. It was too delicate. Such utter contrast to her usual alpha charm.

It’s not fair, the way she looks at her, the way she stupidly falls for this over and over again. “…stop it,” Yongsun whispers.

But this ‘ _stop it_ ’ comes out all raspy and staggered, sounding nothing like it means. And Byul takes one look at her and steps forward, like _that_ was the command instead. She pushes Yongsun’s arm aside gently as her hands continue to glide down, pulling her shirt together one button at a time, until she’s holding the bottom end and she looks up at Yongsun, “there,” she smiles proudly.

Byul fixes the collar after that, her thumb rubbing slowly against the fabric a second longer. “I’m really going to start thinking you’re doing these things on purpose to drive me crazy.”

“ _Byul_ …” She’s weak– always reduced to blindly uttering her name and words of profanity when her voice lowers like that.

“Hey, earlier… I heard. A year?” Byul starts, worry encompassing her eyes, evident in the way her tone softens. But, there’s a hint of mischief in there, no doubt riding on the high of Yongsun responding rather predictably to her. “That’s a long time to go without release.”

That’s all it takes to break her out of it. The smug grin that escapes with her words.

Yongsun scoffs. “I wouldn’t worry, there’s plenty of fucking going on,” she bites scathingly. It sounds a little pathetic once it’s out. 

Byul’s face darkens, a frustrating amount of calmness, and quietly says, “not during a heat you haven’t.”

The air is suddenly heavy, stifling even. Yongsun can’t tell what she’s implying, if that’s pity or concern or a downright reference to her complete and utter lack of control the last time Byul saw her in that state. And Yongsun feels so _transparent_ in her feelings– “look, if you’re talking about that _one_ time –”

“You never called.”

_What?_

Yongsun looks at her blindly.

“You just… _left_. And you never called.”

That’s… not what she expected.

“Called?” She echoes, trying to navigate how small Byul looks suddenly. “I…I don’t know. Did you– you wanted me to?” It’s not what Byul wants to hear apparently, a grimace that makes Yongsun sigh. She backpedals some, adding, “I’m… sorry, just– I didn’t mean to. Mess up the friendship, I mean.”

Byul inhales sharply, looking incredulously to the side like she’s about to leave, but she doesn’t, and just rubs sweaty palms on her thighs, agonized in some obscure way. “ _Please_ ,” she laughs coldly. “This was _not_ friendship.”

To make her point, she fists the collar she so tenderly smoothed before and tugs the both of them together so they’re touching and not touching at every inch of their front.

A gasp. It begins as a gasp of surprise, and ends abruptly, lewdly cut off by the way Yongsun chokes back the sound. Her _scent._ The heat of Byul’s core that beginning to radiate into her. The anger in Byul’s eyes. The underlying post-heat current of energy balled up inside of her that is screaming. It’s– 

_Fuck_.

She whimpers. Her free hand moves involuntary to grip at Byul’s shirt, and then an extremely audible inhale on both their parts, breathing each other in for a second.

In seconds, Yongsun’s hips are already seeking contact. She forgets what this looks like, she just, _needs_ this, now. It’s usually eased by all the anger she has, but being this worked up, and having Byul roll her body to meet her single thrust, it’s too much.

Rationality is a foregone conclusion. She pulls Byul roughly with her, stepping backwards, letting the door shut behind them. With both hands pressed against Byul’s shoulders, she pushes her up against the neighbouring wall, livid in her desire, “what are you doing?” It’s an exasperated hoarse statement, because she knows.

It’s obvious what Yongsun wants now. She hates her innate omega for giving her away, her arousal emanating like a beacon, but it blindly hides away her torrent of feelings, so she’s free to want…and want, and want.

Byul surges forward to capture her lips, and Yongsun sinks against it, a muffled moan dissipating into the unknown.

“Is _this_ what you’re looking for?” Byul challenges, wet kisses trailing from her jaw downwards as she speaks into her neck. “You can’t expect me to believe that _this–_ ” She pulls herself back a fraction to rest her forehead against Yongsun’s “–is nothing.” The both of them breathing so heavily it’s a wonder there’s enough oxygen left.

“I don’t understand. _You want this_ ,” Byul says, looking like she’s convincing herself with her own words. “If…if this is what you’re looking for. Just someone to help you out. I– I’ll do it. Just… don’t–” she inhales to hide the word that dies in her throat, “don’t shut me out.”

 _Help her out._ Fuck. That's all Yongsun hears. But the way Byul pleads with her eyes. It’s just enough vulnerability that Yongsun bites, sealing their lips together, trying to answer without actual words. Although, it probably didn’t matter. She’s so far gone she can’t pull it back. She’s not the only one. She feels a familiar hardening bulge, rocking slowly against her, and shamefully, she angles herself to ride against it.

Byul groans into her mouth. Or the other way round. Who cares? Because fuck, _fuck._ If she’s going to do this…

“Fine.” She rasps out quickly. “We can help each other out.” She needs _some_ degree of balance. She just can’t have it like last time. She can’t.

Byul slows her movement just enough that Yongsun feels a sharp pain through her chest, her exact fears coming to life. But it eases when Byul genuinely asks, “really?”

“That’s the whole point, no?” Yongsun wheezes, incredulous, with a crushing realization that if she actually says no, she might fall apart right there. 

“You’d do that for me?” It’s helps because as Byul says it, her fingers trail gently along Yongsun’s jaw, slipping behind her ear to grasp at the nape of her neck. The softness of it all makes it tolerable again.

“Yeah.”

Byul responds with an open-mouthed kiss, then a bruising finality to their conversation when she grips Yongsun’s hip with her other hand, thrusting once, hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I can’t help all the angst I inject in there. Tell me all your feelings. I obviously love feelings.


	2. And so it goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you for the responses. I’m swooning a little. (Please don’t expect much… :O I crash and burn a lot.) And I seem to have gone on a tangent, so who knows how long this is now.

Yongsun’s fucked other people.

The thought crosses her mind briefly. But it’s so wholly different with Byul that it’s not even the same act. Not that it’s perfect with her. It isn’t. Nothing about it is. The awkward position, their erratic nature, the absolutely poor sense of timing at this time of day. It’s just when it’s her, it doesn’t really matter.

The last time she found herself trying to tear through Byul’s shirt she was in a state of oblivion. The heat wouldn’t let her have one thought, only that she needed and needed, and even then, it still wasn’t enough.

This time the sensations are sharper, her intentions more comprehensible– to a certain degree– so when she runs a hand up Byul’s hard length, fingers wrapping lightly into a grip over the taut material, she _knows_ what she’s doing.

It’s because she’s able to have this one sliver of thinking space, she can relish on her effect, let it go to her head with her ability to make Byul _this_ desperate. She can feel the groan that ripples through them, can feel her wanting to push against her hand, trembling as she holds her alpha back.

They had come together in a storm: relentless and demanding.

At first, Byul was reckless. Dominant.

In the fog of her arousal and one assertive movement, she had actually torn through all the buttons she so meticulously put together. _Fuck_ , did that do things to Yongsun. But to let her have the satisfaction of knowing how much though, that was something else. So, Yongsun swallowed past the dryness in her throat, ignoring the deep urge to give herself over and instead flashed her a look of false irritation, pushing herself back.

“Christ, Byul. Get a grip. That shirt was expensive.”

The audacity of her action seemed to stir something. And Byul had looked her in the eye in pure defiance, grabbing her by both flailing sides of the shirt to pull Yongsun right back to where she was.

As if to say, _so?_

The intensity of the look was so venereal she almost submitted.

But in some twisted fashion, no matter how much she craved for it, she needed it to be the other way round. She needed to hold some semblance of her sanity this time. A feeble attempt at self-preservation.

With whatever conviction she had left, she grabbed Byul the chin and rasped out, “if we’re doing this, we’re doing this my way.”

And now, as she’s stroking her, hand wedged awkwardly between them, it’s because _she_ needs this– needs to see Byul impatiently undoing her zipper, waiting, hungry, for _her._

One hand takes a fistful of Byul’s shirt, to hold her against the wall, as the other slip past the briefs, pumping twice slowly before she releases. The warmth of their skin passes back and forth, so much more in tune compared to over fabric. Yongsun yanks the sides of her pants down in disarray, just enough to release the strain and has to shut her eyes at the filthy sight of her with her clothes half off. A thumb brushes along the head of her cock, a drag of wetness from precum.

Byul twitches but doesn’t move, breath hitching in similar fashion, and stares at her with dilated pupils, so dark Yongsun could drown in them.

It’s the kind of moment where everything stills, completely, because the brain is only capable of handling so much. Yongsun grips the base of the thick shaft, slowly sliding up, then down. And she feels Byul thrust gently with the motion, inhaling her air, moving with her as one.

The way they gather momentum is slow, agonizing in all the right ways, because they’re not kissing, and the air is tight, and Byul is trying _so hard_ not to whimper, letting slip a small grunt, and– 

It’s was never supposed to feel this good.

Not even a fraction of it. Because she’s not supposed to feel the ache inside her get drawn out further and further, as her hand pumps faster and faster.

Byul’s fingernails dig through the material against her back.

“ _Yong…_ ” The first time she chants her name it’s strangled. And Yongsun holts her movements for a second, squeezing her harder than she intended, to the way it sounds like a plea.

The subsequent times it’s repeated, they’re undefined whispers.

And it does things to her, to Yongsun’s ego, a greedy kind of euphoria.

Because the words belong to her.

It drives her to do crazy, impulsive things.

Like drop to her knees.

The moment she does, Byul moans, louder than she has ever done, and the sound collects silently between Yongsun’s legs.

Yongsun looks up at her, hand grasped tightly around the hardness, and the look that passes between them, it’s– it’s too much. They both seem to be aware of the fact. Yongsun looks down quickly, latching onto simple feelings of pure lust to seal her lips around the tip, and Byul whips her head backwards, knocking against the wall with a dull thud, a shuddering sound that lasts longer than either of them expected.

Yongsun licks once first, from the base all the way to the top, sucking lightly.

But then bottoms out so quickly Byul slams a hand against the wall and bucks, the pressure hitting the back of Yongsun’s throat uncomfortably deeper.

“Ahh. Oh m– _fuuck_.” Byul gasps. The ‘k’ echoes around them.

Yongsun pulls back, far enough her tongue can flick around the opening before she does it again. And again.

Fingers tangle in her hair, painfully so, but it’s erotic, guiding her movements to her hips. It doesn’t take long until nonsensible words start tumbling out of Byul’s mouth, her movements erratic, and Yongsun pulls back a little, her hand flying back to its grip to cover the distance as she sucks softly against the head. She lets her teeth graze softly then hollows out her cheeks. 

“ _Jesus._ Yong. Yon– I– I’m going to– ”

Yongsun drives her lips further down in anticipation, but Byul tugs sharply up, hands digging into her scalp and pulls her off in one quick motion.

She comes all over Yongsun’s front, a bit of her hitting her chin, quivering with her knees buckling a little. There’s a series of breaths and whines, intermittently cut off by Byul trying to swallow nothing and Yongsun’s hand slows to let her ride it out. Eventually the breaths even.

“ _God._ I– that was… Come here.” She tugs weakly at Yongsun’s shoulders, her fingers unable to do much more than pat uselessly, and her head rolls back with another thud. Yongsun stands, trying to use the shirt to remove any trace of what happened, but it’s so futile she gives up. Instead, she lets Byul smooth out her hair, and fingertips brush against her neck with a look of admiration, and it’s… nice.

Byul smiles at her, thumb swiping gently where the evidence lies on her chin. Looking dazed and bewildered, Byul murmurs with disbelief, “were you… were you going to swallow?”

And of course, the answer is, “ _No_.” Suddenly it hurts. “Make a mess why don’t you.”

Byul grins sheepishly at her, fingers still combing at her hair softly.

Yongsun stills those fingers with a hand around the wrist. “Please tell me you can get hard again, because I–”

Byul kisses her once, lightly, tenderly, as fingers clasp around her waist, pulling her closer. “Come on. You’re…” Her eyes trail where some remaining part of her drips down Yongsun’s abdomen. Her mouth parts ever so slightly. “For you…? Don’t worry.”

Yongsun looks at her, steely eyed, but slacks against her at the words.

After that it’s a string of delicate touches, soft kisses. Yongsun’s shirt gets pushed off her shoulders, a cold gush of air hitting her back, and Byul’s attention is drawn to her chest, trailing down, sucking, nipping, and Yongsun arches herself into it.

She couldn’t tell if all of this is Byul playing with her or a reward for earlier. Neither seemed satisfying. Byul pulls her closer and closer, and flips them around, the feeling of being pressed against the wall a newfound sensation that spurs impatience. Her pants are lost haphazardly, as are the rest of Byul’s, and a knee slips between her legs.

But it’s too slow, too soft, with fingers trailing lightly between her legs, leaving every time she arches towards it. It’s overwhelming.

She feels too much, aches too much. Because for _fucks’ sakes,_ she can still taste Byul in her mouth, can still feel her splattered across her chest–

“Can you just–” frustrated hands push Byul off to hold her at arm’s length “–fuck me.”

Byul stills.

The words get eaten by the silent room, but both of them hear it, the urgency of it, lingering and repeating itself, driving that _stupid_ insatiable want.

She should be more embarrassed, but exasperation clouds all. “ _Byul_ –”

She cries out. Two fingers enter her quickly, a jolt from where the palm of Byul’s hand hits her where she needs it most. She loses her balance, and Byul catches her weight, only to do it again, sliding farther into her wetness. 

It’s easier this way. The ecstasy is easy to drown in, the sensations pulsating through her with a life of its own, building its own rhythm, and she can close her eyes. Let it spread and consume.

“Wait.” Byul grips Yongsun by the arm, her fingers abruptly leaving a cold, empty space, and Yongsun could just scream.

“ _What?_ ”

“Uh… are you–”

Yongsun looks at her like she’s about to lose it.

“Are you _on_ anything.” She gestures ambiguously, and Yongsun finally picks it up- even for female alphas- a little clarity slipping back with each subsequent breath.

“ _Oh._ Uh. No… usually there’s… condoms. Of some sort.”

“Right. Yeah… I think I– Uh. That’s fine. Just let me…” Yongsun almost falls as Byul pulls away, digging through the pants, then wallet, laying on the ground. It lies with the rest of the havoc they’ve scattered around. She pulls out a small package.

Yongsun doesn’t try to pretend to herself that it doesn’t suddenly hurt, to see her essentially produce that out of thin air. Because that would mean that she–

She doesn’t go there.

She doesn’t really have time to.

Byul returns in a flash, with her cock in hand, eager in her arousal, and looks at her with such a fervent hunger, it’s almost easy to ignore everything else. Yongsun feels one of her legs get hoisted up as Byul lines herself to her entrance, hand guiding herself to slide up and down to collect the slickness. The anticipation almost kills her.

“Okay?” Byul murmurs quietly.

She tries not to let her frustration show, and hums unsteadily.

Looking her straight in the eyes, Byul sinks in slowly and withdraws, only to repeat the process, each time stretching her deeper and deeper, until she’s impossibly full. The noises that escapes are so obnoxious it’s like they don’t belong to them.

“You okay?” Byul rasps again.

And Yongsun is not capable of much but a tug at Byul’s hip this time, sheathing her completing within and replicating Byul’s breathy groan, “just keep going.”

There’s something about getting fucked against the wall that’s better. No bed, no comfort. No indication that this was planned in any way. And it’s hasty and desperate in its purposeful thrusting, done without much thought.

It’s _just_ fucking.

But even then– when she comes– it’s devastating.

Her whines get swallowed by Byul’s mouth as Byul’s fingers put added pressure between them to push her over. Then, as she’s coming down, Byul grunts quietly with purpose, taking very little beyond the pulsating walls and succinct short movements to mirror Yongsun’s trembling mess.

It’s not really until Yongsun’s calmed, and Byul extracts herself, that she realizes the emptiness that remains.

Suddenly the lucidity is disquieting: her hands are buried deep under Byul’s remaining shirt, clawing onto her shoulders having pulled her bra half off; the nakedness of her own skin is rough against the wall; and Byul pants, warm against her in some state of intoxication.

It’s a rawness that should take an immense amount of effort to get to. But here they are, standing by the entrance of her apartment in the morning, clearly having undone _everything_ in the span of less than an hour. 

Stupidly, the first words out of Yongsun’s mouth are, “we’ve missed class.”

Byul lifts herself just enough to remove the face she buried into Yongsun’s neck. She doesn’t say anything for a bit, and it’s impossible to read, perhaps it’s her trying to read Yongsun back. But then she laughs once, simply. “I guess we did.”

And then in perfect Byul fashion she jokes, “I would hope this was more enjoyable than class.”

The self-assured smile, the way she licks her lips– Yongsun averts her eyes.

Because even now in this horrid lucidity, she can feel a part of herself wanting her again. Because Byul is _always_ like this, excruciatingly playful with her words, amused, without a care. But it’s never just words. It’s the combination of it all: those dangerous eyes, the subtle tones, and fingers that dance all over her. And every so often she would feel like the only thing Byul sees, before it’s predictably broken by some laugh or smirk or thing around them. That’s the thing though, it never lasts.

She wants to brush off Byul’s words, like she always does, but this time it’s different. She’s stripped in every way, her heart hammering her truth loudly between them.

Of course, Byul catches on. “Yongsun-ah, you sure your heart’s doing okay?” She teases, her ear so close to the palpitations, and Yongsun stills for a second when Byul pulls back even more to tuck hair behind her ear.

“ _Don’t–_ ” Yongsun pushes her off of her, choking on her words. “Don’t _do_ that.”

Byul flinches from the movement, finding her bearings again with a step back, and surprise fades into something that gets perfectly tucked under one vacant stare.

The air is jarringly cold where she once was.

And then after a long moment, Byul just says, “okay.”

They stand there like statues in an exhibit, deciding if they should stay statues.

“Why are you so worked up?” Byul sighs eventually, appearing tired all of a sudden, and takes a long look at how Yongsun is covering herself with the cross of her arms. She bends to pick up Yongsun’s discarded excuse for a shirt and hands it to her, an almost apathetic movement if it weren’t for the way she shoves it into her hand.

Yongsun takes the ragged cloth and pulls it against herself. If this is what it’s like now, she _can’t_.

She’d only make it out with pieces of herself during any heat or rut.

“I don’t know if we…I don’t think we should…” _do this again,_ whatever unspoken is louder.

Byul chews on her lip. The second she stops the lip trembles. But it disappears, and then she’s looking at Yongsun like they’re standing with clothes on instead, not having fucked, and all she did was hand Yongsun the phone like she was supposed to.

“Yeah… sure, whatever you want.” There was no bite in the words whatsoever. Maybe that would’ve been better.

Yongsun doesn’t know what she was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

Byul steps into her pants, stuffing the briefs into the pocket, and runs quick hands through her long hair. Her fingers get caught coarsely, and her breath gets all weird before the whole task gets abandoned.

She steps over to Yongsun, wary, and kisses her lightly on top of her head. In a barely audible mumble, she murmurs, “see you later, yeah?”

“Byul I–” Yongsun starts.

“It’s fine.”

And just like that, Yongsun lost every ounce of control she’s been grasping at for months.

* * *

She takes another shower.

She tries laying on the couch.

She stares at the wall by her door, wondering if she needs to clean it.

Wheein finds her in the library two hours later.

“I thought the goal was to _actually_ attend class this year.” Wheein hushes against the quiet room, and slides into the neighbouring chair.

Yongsun shrugs once and looks at her, silently, for a couple seconds.

“Oh no, what now?” Wheein asks quietly and Yongsun hadn’t realize she was that easy to read.

Yongsun’s lips purse uncomfortably trying not to let her face contort and Wheein doesn’t press, because that’s just who she is. Instead, she pats Yongsun on the shoulder twice to console, and digs and digs through her bag until she presents her with a chocolate in a wrinkly wrapper.

Yongsun chokes back an exasperated laugh. “Thanks.”

Wheein shrugs affectionately and leans her weight against the table, propping her head up with an elbow. She studies Yongsun for a long moment from that position. “Want to go out this weekend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me while I hide somewhere…have not done smut to this extent. And did you think I was joking about angst? 
> 
> Please don’t kill me.


End file.
